


Make The Man

by literaryspell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, D/s, Established Relationship, Humiliation, M/M, previously established D/s relationship, the inherent nastiness involved in Death Eater roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-05
Updated: 2012-04-05
Packaged: 2017-11-03 02:24:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryspell/pseuds/literaryspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry finds Draco's Death Eater clothes in the attic, and he can't quell the urge to have Draco dominate him while wearing them. They ride the line between sex and a violent history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make The Man

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the [](http://harry-submits.livejournal.com/profile)[**harry_submits**](http://harry-submits.livejournal.com/) fest, which was a blast! The prompt, submitted by the lovely [](http://secretsalex.livejournal.com/profile)[**secretsalex**](http://secretsalex.livejournal.com/), was as follows: _Draco still has his Death Eater mask and robes. Harry begs his Dom to put them on one night._

 

Harry swiped damp hands on his trousers when he heard the front door open and close. He glanced down at the bed, at the black fabric and the pearly interior of the white mask. He'd found the items in Draco's school trunk when he'd been looking for the wizarding photograph Hermione had taken of him and Draco years before. He wanted something to put over the new fireplace mantle. They'd been working on renovating their old cottage into a lovely, if isolated, home, and Harry had just wanted to make the place feel like he'd always imaged a house should.

He'd nearly vomited when he'd found the Death Eater garb. He'd touched it and it felt like violence. Why did Draco keep it? How could he stand to have it around? He hated the sight of the mark on his forearm, refused to wear short-sleeved shirts even in the heavy heat of summer. He looked away when Harry traced it with his fingers or tongue. To Harry, it was a mistake. An error in judgment, something horrible that had been forgiven.

Not the clothes, though. Kneeling before the chest, Harry had closed his eyes and imaged Draco, lanky as he'd been in his youth, fingers trembling as he'd placed the icy mask over his set features. Confused and uncertain but determined.

Then Harry had had only one thought, one thought that stayed with him the rest of the day. He'd found and framed the photograph, positioned it with a distinct lack of precision, all the while unable to escape the thought.

That he wanted Draco to fuck him wearing the Death Eater robes and mask.

It was wrong and really quite horrible and Hermione would direct him straight to therapy but he couldn’t keep himself from imagining Draco, his boyfriend, lover, and Dom, fucking him like he hated him.

It had taken years, and it was only because of Draco, but Harry had accepted there was no shame in desire and that his wants were valid even when not socially acceptable. Draco wouldn’t judge him. No, Draco would not let Harry know his immediate thoughts. He would make Harry guess, make him suffer while he thought Draco was judging him. Draco never did, of course, and some of the things he asked for had taken Harry aback, but this felt like something different, like a violation, a true perversion.

"In here," Harry called when he heard Draco's muffled voice from the other side of the house. With every light but audible step that brought Draco closer, Harry's heart shook in time.

"The picture looks great, Harry…" Draco's voice slowed to a stop as he entered the room. Harry didn’t even see him look at the bed where the garments lay. His eyes were on Harry the whole time but he must have seen. "I suppose you found it in my trunk." His voice was flat, even.

Harry nodded.

Draco said nothing and crossed in front of Harry to the bed. He bent, his fingers hovering over the mask but never connecting. A shaky breath left him, but when he turned to face Harry, he was expressionless.

"Are you angry?" Draco asked.

Harry frowned. "No. You mean, that you kept them?"

Draco said nothing but Harry knew that was what he meant. For a moment, he tried to think if he _was_ angry. That uniform, emblematic of hate and death, in the house they shared. A part of him was a little ticked. He didn’t bring it up because he thought what he was about to ask was much worse.

"Did you ever… have sex in them? While wearing them, I mean?"

Draco recoiled, his right shoulder twitching away as if his very being was repulsed. "Never."

Harry picked up the mask. The inside was unearthly smooth, the outside decorated in glittering silver lines and swirls. Detached from meaning, it was beautiful. He handed it to Draco.

So much of their relationship was silence. It wasn’t that they didn’t need to talk, just that they often chose not to. Harry couldn’t recall asking Draco to be his boyfriend, it had just happened. He didn’t remember the talk after the first time they'd fucked like it was rape. It didn’t always feel healthy but it was them.

In that silence, Draco took the mask. He looked at Harry, into him. There was the tiniest crinkle in his forehead, to which Harry responded with a barely perceptible nod.

Draco's hand shot out and clamped around Harry's upper arm. In one violent motion, he spun Harry and slammed him face-first on the bed. Had it not been Draco, Harry could have broken the hold, but his struggles were minor. His breath caught when Draco yanked the black Death Eater cloak from beneath him, and he groaned in discomfort when Draco's knee came down on his lower back, pinning him.

"My only surprise, Potter, is that it's taken you this long to get yourself caught." Draco's voice was cold and stilted by the mask Harry knew he'd donned. "You cannot imagine the pleasure I feel that I finally brought you down."

"Fuck you, Malfoy," Harry bit out, fighting to find his character and ignore his swelling cock.

"So trite." Draco tsked. He stepped back, off Harry. "Stand up and face me, you fucking coward."

Harry stiffened, his hands clenching. Draco couldn’t know what that word meant to him, what it stirred in him. He stood, slowly, and turned. Draco was wearing the robes, the mask, and holding himself in that excruciatingly polished pure-blood way.

"Undress."

"I don't think so," Harry growled. He could see Draco's eyes through the mask, and it comforted him.

Draco's wand slid from his sleeve into his hand and whipped beneath Harry's chin. "What did you say, Mudblood?" The wand tip pressed in, and Harry could barely swallow.

Harry said nothing.

" _Undress._ "

Again, Harry was silent and still. He might have asked for this but he wasn’t going to make it easy on Draco. He wanted it to be real. He wanted it ugly.

Draco sighed and whispered a spell that took Harry's clothes off in the most ignoble way possible. His robes flew up and choked him until they struggled free, his trousers yanked down, tugging hard on his dick and then making him hop as they tried to wriggle out from beneath his feet. His shirt and pants both ripped off, ruined and leaving sore red spots behind.

When he was nude, Harry gritted his teeth and didn’t allow himself modesty. He wouldn’t cover himself, wouldn’t draw his shoulders together.

Draco chuckled and drew his wand up Harry's thigh to his cock, flaccid after the humiliating and painful clothing removal. "Not much a hero in the prick department, are we?" He flicked Harry's cock before taking in the rest of him. "In any department, really. How sad, though rather fitting. You somehow expect to defeat the Dark Lord?"

Harry's insides roiled. It was too much, _too_ real. People had died, Remus, Fred…

Before Harry could dwell on it, Draco turned him again, shoving him onto the bed and directing him to the headboard. Harry allowed it, no longer willing to fight like he had been.

"Hold onto it," Draco directed. He ran a hand down Harry's back, from his neck to his arsecrack. "Arch your back like a proper whore. I want to see what I've won."

Harry spread his legs and arched as he'd been told.

"Good boy." Draco's finger circled Harry's hole, pressing in now and then. "Ever been fucked, Hero?"

Harry shook his head. His arousal was returning; he just had to focus on Draco's voice, on his hands. It was just sex, he reminded himself.

"I can't wait to make you bleed." To ease the intensity of the words, Draco smoothed a hand through Harry's hair, and Harry leaned into the touch. He heard Draco summoning the lube from their bathroom, and the familiarity of that settled him.

"You can fuck me, Malfoy, but you're nothing to me," he spat, facing the wall above the headboard.

"Now, now, that isn't nice," Draco cooed. A wet finger entered Harry without hesitation, and he grunted as it was followed from a second. "Say thank-you, Hero, because I don't have to be kind like this."

Harry shook his head. Draco searched out and found his prostate, rubbing it in quick motions, making his cock leak precome.

"See how nice I can be?" With his other hand, Draco reached beneath Harry and gave his dick a preemptory stroke. "Now say thank-you or I'll shove my whole fist up your arse and fuck-punch you until you pass out from the pain."

Harry groaned and dropped his head. It shouldn’t be so hot but he couldn’t help it—a part of him wanted Draco to do just that, to really hurt him, to not listen to when he said no. "Thank you."

" _Such_ a good little boy. Ready for me?"

Draco didn’t wait for a response. Harry felt him settle behind him, spreading Harry's legs further, and lining up his cock. "This is the only thing you're good for, Potter. Getting fucked by a Death Eater. Never forget that." With his words, Draco shoved his cock inside Harry, stalling about halfway in. Harry tried to remember how to breathe as Draco pulled out and slammed back in, bottoming out.

"How does it feel, baby? Does my cock fill you just right?" Draco began a lazy pace, pulling almost all the way out before spearing Harry again.

"Yeah," Harry said. His knuckles were white from his grip on the headboard. "Fuck, don't stop, Draco."

"I hadn’t planned on it." But then he did—he pulled out and thumbed Harry's arsehole. "So disgusting, bending over for someone you're supposed to hate. You fucking love this, don't you?" Draco popped the head of his dick through Harry's hole and pulled it out again, repeating the humiliating gesture several times. "Beg me to fuck you, you nasty slag."

"Fuck me, fuck me, please." Harry arched his back more, trying to entice Draco back. Any semblance of feigned dignity was gone, drowned by the desire to be filled, fucked, and owned by Draco.

Draco's hand hit Harry's chest and pulled him upright, back against Draco's body. "I love it when you ask nicely." He nipped Harry's shoulder and sank his cock back inside, pushing on Harry's shoulder at the same time so he was sitting on Draco's lap.

It hit Harry that Draco had taken the mask off. A relief he didn’t know he'd been waiting for hit him. This was just Draco, just him and Draco fucking like they always did. Harry relaxed into Draco's hold and let him guide him, falling into the motions like he had countless times before.

Unlike the painful clarity of before, Harry's mind was a pleasant fog—the need to come was present and urgent, but there were no mixed feelings about that any longer.

"Close?" Draco asked. He reached around Harry to stroke his dick, long, smooth motions borne from so long together.

"Yeah," Harry said in a gasp. He fell forward once more, letting Draco get deeper inside him with every thrust. He could feel Draco begin to lose his poise, his movements sharper and more determined to an end.

"Coming, Harry." Draco's hips ground against Harry's arse but his hand never stopped, and soon Harry was coming too, staining the bedsheet and Draco's Death Eater sleeve. _Take that,_ he thought, grinning foolishly to himself before slumping down to the bed.

Draco pulled out and spelled them clean but Harry barely noticed. He settled in beside Harry with a hand on his back.

"All right?" he asked in a low voice, his lips moving against Harry's shoulder.

"Yeah, good."

"Really?"

Harry looked at him and thought, just like he knew Draco wanted him too—like he knew Draco was doing as well. "Yeah, really. You?"

Draco sighed. "I'm fine too." He cleared his throat. "I'm getting rid of these," he added, gesturing to the discarded garments.

Harry just nodded.

"And I was thinking we'd move that photograph to the other side of the mantle. For balance."

Harry laughed, satiated and reassured. "Whatever you want."

Draco grinned and flipped the blanket over them. The Death Eater garb fell to the floor.


End file.
